


That Fire Keeps Burning and We Just Can't Slow It Down

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Michael's looking at his phone when he hears a voice he’d recognize anywhere, anytime. It brings back an utter torrent of memories, from sandwich-swapping at lunch to sneaking into the gigs of local bands at bars they hadn’t been old enough to get into. And so much laughter, and hugs and bright summer afternoons in a bubble that seemed impenetrable, at the time. Until he’d ruined everything, of course. And now they're here, in LA, a billion miles from home, and Michael tries to figure out whether or not this is a hallucination from their stint at the patchouli cart.Or the one where Michael runs away from love once, but if it's meant to be, love has a way of finding you again in ways and places you'd never expect.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Calum Hood/Ashley Frangipane, Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	That Fire Keeps Burning and We Just Can't Slow It Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reversecow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reversecow/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAIA.
> 
> Our resident goth, cutest person I know, sweetest human who always has a minute to talk about anything and everything, even when I'm being a little shit about your birthday presents. May your second year of being 24 be even better than the first time, and I really hope you love this. If you don't, lie. Lie shamelessly. I'll understand. x
> 
> Also, thanks so much to Wil for being my cowriter and beta. Love you, friend. You make writing fun 💜

_“I wish it could just be simple, like a retro pop song. “I want you to want me”. BOOM. End of story. We all live happily ever after.”_  
— John Tucker Must Die, 2006

“I feel like we’ve gone full native.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m a natural blonde.”

Calum looks up from the crate of sustainably sourced tomatoes he’d been examining, a deep frown creasing his brow. “You expect me to believe that archaic emo fringe of yours is natural?”

“I’m a dirty blonde!” Michael clutches at his hair protectively.

“And being Australian must mean I am naturally inclined towards surfing. Next, you’ll be telling me you never tan because you have naturally fair skin, and not because you live in front of a computer screen.” Calum puts down the tomato he’s holding and wanders on, in the direction of the baked goods.

They’re at a farmer’s market somewhere in Los Angeles, and this is supposed to be their first date, but as is naturally the case with relationships that start out as friendships, you don’t just wake up one day in full boyfriend mode. Actually, Michael is pretty sure Calum isn’t even trying. He has a right mind to pick up some gluten-free croissants and head home to his drawing tablet and his headphones.

“Mikes, you want some of this gluten-free shit?” Calum asks without turning around, looking like he’s trying to work out how much he can actually carry home – which, Michael knows, is about all he'll be willing to contribute.

“So sweet of you. I’ll pick us up some matcha tea.” He pretends not to notice Calum turning, then, to glare at him in outrage.

He steps up to the outdoor Starbucks cart and feels around in his pocket for his wallet. There’s only one other person ahead of him — a guy with broad shoulders and dark curls, which is honestly what’d made him decide that maybe Calum is datable after all. That is, before the total train wreck had decided to bleach his hair.

Michael's looking at his phone when he hears a voice he’d recognize anywhere, anytime. It brings back an utter torrent of memories, from sandwich-swapping at lunch to sneaking into the gigs of local bands at bars they hadn’t been old enough to get into. And so much laughter, and hugs and bright summer afternoons in a bubble that seemed impenetrable, at the time. Until he’d ruined everything, of course. And now they're here, in LA, a billion miles from home, and Michael tries to figure out whether or not this is a hallucination from their stint at the patchouli cart.

“Michael?” He still sounds the same as that last voice message, the only remnant of their life together. And now he’s peering into Michael’s eyes, his hazel ones bright with surprise and his pretty mouth pursed just so.

_Not the time, Michael._

“Ashton,” he breathes, his mouth going dry. Clearing his throat doesn’t help, so says something else, hoping it makes him look less like the mess he feels inside. “You changed your hair.”

Always quick with a smile, his lips pull into one now, as he reaches up to run a hand through his now-black hair. When Michael had known him, those curls had been honey-blonde and enviably luscious — now they’re pitch black, shiny and sexy as sin. Michael just wants to reach out and touch them.

“Didn’t want to look like a Disney After School Special forever,” comes the response. But then Ashton’s chuckling and pointing. “See you finally pierced your ears.”

“Ditto,” Michael responds, smiling too, and pointing at Ashton’s single pierced ear. “Young Depp or goth DiCaprio?”

“Obviously Soft Grunge Grohl,” he frowns.

“Of course,” Michael shakes his head at himself. “How ignorant of me.”

“God, I’ll forgive you if you let me buy you a drink sometime? Has it been six years?” The look Ashton gives him is so loaded, but Michael is honestly too busy fighting not to short-circuit from an overload of his own emotions to figure much beyond Ashton clearly having missed him, too. Which is enough to push him over the edge, all by itself.

But before Michael can open his mouth to utter so much as a confirmation, a dark-haired girl with adorable freckles walks up to Ashton.

“Ash, sorry to interrupt, but if we don’t leave now, we’ll miss our reservation.” She gives Michael a small smile.

“Right,” Ashton says, looking like he just got woken up from a very pleasant dream. “Be right there.”

To Michael, it feels like a nightmare he’s being plunged back into. The bane of his existence, and the real reason it’s been six years. Because Ashton Irwin is straight – and Michael is undeniably, hopelessly in love with him. 

When she leaves, Ashton’s gaze finds his again, eyebrows raising questioningly.

“Oh, right. Drinks. Um, sure,” Michael says, sounding listless even to himself. “I mean, that’d be great. Catching up would be awesome.”

But Ashton is laughing. “Some things never change. We’ll make a plan.”

“Michael! I can’t carry all these croissants by myself, you cheapskate!”

Looking over his shoulder, Michael resists the urge to clap himself on the forehead, because, honestly, what had he thought was going to happen?

“Then, why did you empty the fucking cart?” he shakes his head at Calum, turning back to Ashton with a half-apologetic, half-amused smile. “Plans sound great. Please, excuse me while I go save doofus over there from death by French pastry.”

“See you soon, hopefully,” Ashton says. “Wait! Um… Is your number still…?”

“Yeah! Yeah. Same. I promise to respond this time. Definitely see you soon!”

Inching towards Calum, his eyes stretch wide when the dunce almost drops an over-full bag of croissants on the ground. Michael grabs it in the nick of time, almost taking a nose-dive himself. He could murder Calum sometimes.

“So, is anyone planning on paying for those?” the girl behind the cart asks.

Calum smiles at Michael, turns on his heel and heads back the way they’d come. Michael swears under his breath the entire time he pays the girl, landing a smack to the back of Calum’s head when he catches back up.

“Hey!” Calum glares at him. “Wait, were you so busy ignoring me to chat up some dude that you forgot our matcha tea?”

Michael speeds up, leaving him to find his own way out of the market.

_"You once said that you liked me, just as I am, and I wanted to say, likewise."_  
– Bridget Jones' Diary, 2001

"Yo, you good, man? You've been pacing nervously out here for the last fifteen minutes." 

Michael's eyes snap up to the concerned bartender hanging out the door, following his motions like a slow tennis match.

"Do I come into your bar and question your nervous pacing? Didn't think so. Now, go pour cosmos or give sage advice or… whatever it is that earns you tips…"

With a shake of his head, the barman retreats, leaving Michael to pull out his own hair in inner turmoil. He has no idea why he came, because he knows there's no way tonight can end well. Either he has the meltdown in front of Ashton that he'd had in his bedroom at his parents' house when he'd been eighteen, or he sticks it out and goes and has his meltdown at his place. Either way, this is a bad idea. It doesn't help that Calum is practically endorsing this.

 _"So,_ that _was Ashton? Mr. Troy Bolton minus the basketball himself? He's way sexier than I imagined," Calum had assessed, sitting cross-legged on Michael's couch and dipping his honey croissant into his tea._

_"He's sexier than I remember," Michael had admitted, staring miserably at the carpet. But then a fever had gripped him and he'd looked up at Calum determinedly. "I should just forget about him, right? I mean, you and I are sort of trying things now, aren't we? It's not like anything can happen between me and Ash, anyway."_

_Stuffing the soggy tip of the croissant into his mouth, Calum had given Michael a look over the top of his tea mug._

_"Oh, shut up," Michael had said. "He's straight, Calum. Don't you think if there'd ever been a single clue otherwise, I would've said something?"_

_Calum had given him another look as he'd chewed and Michael had fought the urge to chuck a throw pillow at him._

_"You're an idiot, Clifford, and you're going to meet up with him, even if I have to type the text myself."_

_Michael's head had dropped into his hands. "I'm doomed."_

_"No, you're dramatic, and since you subject me to it almost daily, I'm using this to live vicariously through you. Now, do I have to reply for you, or are you gonna nut up for once?" Calum had held out his hand, downing his tea._

_Grabbing his phone up from between them, Michael had clutched it protectively to his chest, glaring Calum's hand down. That'd morphed into an urge to throw it at Calum's head a second later, when the asshole had smirked to himself, self-satisfied._

_Michael had poured over a text to reply to Ashton's light, unassuming one, spending nearly half an hour on it. He'd eventually gotten so frustrated with himself that he'd switched off his keypad tones._

_“…Ashchael? Miketon…”_

_“Are you honestly working out a ship name?” Michael had glanced up to stare at him in mild disgust._

_“MASHTON!” He’d smiled excitedly at Michael. “Right? Mashton.”_

_“You’re a sick sadist.”_

But this is what Michael takes with him as he finally steps inside, scanning the crowd for Ashton. Mashton, and how secretly warm it makes him feel. As much as he hates Calum sometimes, he loves him, too.

“Mikey!” Ashton waves him over from the bar and Michael sidles up to the counter.

They hug and Michael notes how he still smells the same, this sexy musk mixed with something grounding and earthy. And his muscular arms around Michael still feel the same, still make Michael feel the same — safe and loved and small and protected. God, tonight is going to hell already.

“You still use the same shampoo,” Ashton notes when Michael takes a seat next to him.

Micheal’s head swivels around at his words, eyes bugging out a little – only to find Ashton scrunching his face adorably in embarrassment, his ears burning red.

"Way to sound like a total stalker, Ash," he berates himself and Michael just wants to hug him again.

"It might interest you to know that you're right. I do still use the Spider-Man-themed shampoo I used in high school, but only because it smells like strawberry milkshake and makes my hair extra soft," Michael tries not to look too amused.

"No shit! Wait, you said you only used that, because it was all your mum would buy." Ashton narrows his eyes at him.

"Well, clearly Mum was onto something."

Ashton shoves him in the shoulder. "You're still a dweeb."

"And you're still the 'after' photo on a fitness DVD. The question isn't, I think, how we are still alike, but how we both came to be in LA," Michael dramatizes, stealing Ashton's beer to take a sip.

Ashton nods at Michael's logic, fidgeting with the neck of his skintight black t-shirt. Michael sees the hint of a red choker peeking out, but he also notices how Ashton's nails are painted black and how inked his arms are now. Michael spots the moon phases he and Ashton used to discuss at length for tattoos back in the day. It makes him feel even warmer that Ashton had ended up getting them.

"Well, we did always say LA, right?" Ashton reminds him, watching Michael watch him.

Michael clears his throat. "Yeah. We did."

"Honestly, I've been hoping I'd run into you here. You vanished into thin air back home…"

"Yeah, um… Kinda got a tech developer job out here. I didn't know how to say goodbye, so I just…"

"Didn't?" Ashton supplies, draining the rest of his beer before raising a hand to grab the bartender's attention.

"Yeah. Sorry, mate."

Ashton orders for them both. Turning to him as they wait, he says, "To tell you the truth, I probably wouldn't have known how to say goodbye to you, either. I'm just happy we found each other again."

Michael does hug him again, then. Not awkward and gentle like before – a full on bear hug, like they used to hold each other when they were kids. Ashton takes point, just like he used to, and ends up with his fingers in Michael's hair and Michael's face in his neck.

Conversation comes much more easily after that. Michael tells him about how the tech business went down pretty much as soon as he started, because the two idiots that ran it spent all their money before they even had it. Currently, he’s working as an intern at a multimedia company, helping with editing, both visually and literarily. He even tells Ashton about how he’s working up a portfolio to pitch his own cartoon to the company. He shows him some of the panels he has saved to his phone.

Ashton tells him how he models now, for a super artistic fashion house, and that there’s talks that he might be going to the New York Fashion Week this year to walk in a few shows. He’d come over a few years after Michael did, needing to make sure his siblings would be okay without him. Michael asks after Lauren and Harry and Ashton pulls out his own phone, showing him how big the kids have gotten, gushing like a total parent over how pretty Lauren is now. Michael agrees — she’s just as beautiful as her big brother. Ashton smiles at that, looking up at Michael through his eyelashes.

“So, do I get to see photos of model-Ashton? Or did I totally just show you mine, but you won’t show me yours?” Michael jokes, talking around the straw in his cocktail.

“Hey, you offered. I made no promises,” Ashton says.

He reaches for the peanuts, but Michael yanks the bowl out of reach. He takes one in his hand and aims it at Ashton’s face. He opens his mouth and Michael throws it right in, reaching for a fist bump.

“No, but seriously,” Michael pushes, a little braver with the alcohol in his system. “What, are you afraid your girlfriend will be jealous or something? She’s tiny. I could totally take her.”

Ashton frowns, before his face opens in realization. “Wait, you mean Ashley, from the market?”

“You’re dating a girl named Ashley? Do you go by Ash-squared?” Michael laughs at his own stupid joke.

“Actually, we do, but she’s not my girlfriend. She’s my _roommate_ ,” Ashton clarifies.

“Awkward.”

“Glad I don’t look that stupid right now.”

Michael hits him in the forehead with two peanuts.

“What about you?” Ashton chuckles. “You seeing that cute dude you were out with yesterday?”

“Calum? Absolutely not. He just eats my food and lives on my couch, rent-free. The menace,” Michael vents. “Great best friend, but I wouldn’t date him if you paid me.”

“I remember the days I used to drive you insane like that. You know, I still have your My Chem hoodie.” He says this casually, over the top of his beer glass, like he isn’t wreaking total havoc with Michael’s head.

“Well, I still have your football jacket,” Michael volleys, eyes on the inside of his cocktail glass.

"You do?" There's an unreadable expression on Ashton's face now. It makes Michael's neck feel hot and he sucks harder on his straw, averting his eyes.

But then Ashton's phone chimes and Michael checks the time on his. It's almost midnight. The time just got away from them, like it always does when they're together. Michael could honestly stay here all night.

"Shit. It's Ashley. She was out with her girlfriend and boyfriend and somehow lost her keys. I gotta go let her into the apartment. I'm sorry." He looks it, too, peering into Michael's eyes with genuine regret.

"Then we'll just have to hang out again soon." It just slips out, but he can't bring himself to care very much.

Especially when Ashton practically lights up. "I'll call you, then?"

"I'll be waiting anxiously by the phone."

Ashton slips out of his seat to hug him tight. Just before he pulls away, he brushes a small kiss to Michael's cheek, making him swoon.

When he's out the door, Michael rests his chin in his hand to gather himself. The bartender comes to relieve him of his empty glass, but ends up lingering a second. Michael glances up at him.

"Some _sage advice_ ," the guy says, a slight sarcastic bite to his voice, "but that guy? Totally into you."

"Guess who just lost his tip?" Michael fires back.

"Use it to pay for an Uber, lover boy."

It’s only as the car pulls away from the curb that Michael realizes Ashton had asked him about another guy — a man. He knows Michael’s gay, and he doesn’t care. Michael suddenly can’t wait to see him again. 

  
_"I could die right now… I'm just so happy. I've never felt that before. I'm just exactly where I want to be."_  
– Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, 2004

  
_“Miss me already, Smash?”_

_“If I say yes, will you hold it against me?” It’d barely been a whisper down the line, but it’d sent a shiver so violent down Michael’s spine that his toes had curled beneath the sheets._

_He used to be your best friend. You said shit like this to each other all the time. Get it together, Clifford, he’d berated himself._

_“Maybe it’s cute you’re calling me so soon, or whatever…” Michael had teased._

_There’d been a tense beat in which Michael had considered everything from flushing his phone down the toilet to moving into a remote mountain cottage in Nebraska and changing his name._

_“I’ve given our next hang-out some thought,” Ashton breaks through his spiral, then._

_“Very industrious of you.”_

_“You know me — ever the overachiever. Now, if I tell you to dress comfy, are you going to wear ridiculously expensive sweatpants and sneakers that cost a month’s rent?” Ashton had actively come for his throat._

_“…No?” Michael had wracked his brain for what else he had in his closet._

_“Good, good. Because some old shorts and flip-flops would really work fine. Also, send me your address and be outside your house at seven tomorrow morning,” had been the cryptic instructions._

Which is why he’s currently waiting in old Converse (old, thanks very much), jean cut-offs, a stained t-shirt and a hoodie on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around himself. It’s not exactly cold, but the early morning air is biting against his skin. He’s curious as hell about where they’re going, especially so early. Knowing Ashton, it’ll probably be the last thing Michael would expect.

Their transport certainly is.

Ashton throws his leg off a sleek, black, gorgeous motorcycle. He dumps his helmet on the seat and walks up to Michael with a smile. 

“You like it?” he asks, a slightly tense edge to his voice.

“It’s so… hot,” Michael decides.

The self-satisfied smile on Ashton’s face is so sexy, Michael’s knees threaten to give out when he pulls him into a big hug. Instead, he finds himself gripping the back of Ashton’s hoodie — wait, his My Chem hoodie. It’s like Ashton wants him dead.

“You’re cold,” Ashton says suddenly, near his ear, and pulls back to scan Michael’s face.

It’s then only that Michael notices he’s shivering. Maybe he is a little cold.

“It’s cool. I can run upstairs and grab a j—”

“No way. You can borrow mine. And we’re not that far away from where we’re going, where I promise to get you the hot beverage of your choosing.” He sounds like a flight attendant and Michael snorts.

They get onto the highway, Michael wrapped in Ashton’s leather jacket with his chest pressed to Ashton’s back. Thankfully, they head into the sun, so it’s far warmer than on Michael’s street. He also isn’t complaining about having his arms wrapped securely around Ashton. He warns Michael about a sharp turn they have to take by putting one of his hands on Michael’s and rubbing soothingly at his skin until they’ve straightened back out. They pull to a stop much too quickly, Michael reluctant to let go of Ash just yet.

“Mikes, we’re here. C’mon, we gotta get going.” His voice is soft and he doesn’t pry Michael’s hands loose, only keeps up his gentle soothing until Michael lets go on his own.

When he looks up, he gasps. Looking between Ashton and their destination, he says, “You brought me to an oceanarium?”

Ashton chuckles. “I brought you _to work_ with me.”

“You said you were a model. Are you having a shoot here or something?” Michael fits his helmet under his arm like Ashton does and follows him to the front entrance. They wave at the person selling admission, who greets Ashton by name.

“Modeling isn't very kind to the finances, so I work here to make up the difference. Not to be a nag, but we really do have to get going. They’re handing out schedules in five,” Ashton explains, speeding up.

Michael keeps pace with him. They basically jog across a visitors area with fenced off enclosures from which can be heard all manner of animal sounds. By the front door, there’s a girl with a log book, looking majorly relieved.

“Cutting it kinda close, Sting. Cam’s in a less-than-ideal mood.” She writes something in her book, while Ashton starts looking a little paler than usual.

Michael just stays right on his heels, hoofing it through the foyer of the building and down the steps to a group of people gathered at a massive fish tank. There, another woman glares at Ashton like she’s willing him to drop dead where he stands. Instead, she fixates on Michael.

“I wasn’t aware today was Bring Your Boyfriend to Work Day, Sting.”

“No! No, Cam. He’s here to help, I swear. Sorry we’re late. Traffic was murder.” Ashton attempts to placate. It helps that he turns up the puppy dog eyes. No one in Ashton’s life has ever been able to resist them.

Cam is no exception.

“Alright, chum. Schedules are a bit all over the place today, but if everyone sticks to them, we might just survive. We have three school groups, meaning the minders have to be on guard. We can’t afford another lawsuit when Oscar gets too fresh. Got it?”

Everyone nods like they just received military orders before getting their papers from Cam. She asks Ashton and Michael to hang back while everyone else disperses.

“What’s your name, kid?” she asks Michael.

“Michael. I promise I’ll help wherever I can. Thanks for having me.” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to kiss this woman’s ass, but he gets the distinct impression she isn’t someone you just say no to.

“You follow Sting around, he’ll show you the ropes, and if we need an extra minder, you’re up. Got it?” Cam looks him right in the eye.

“Yes, Ma— Cam.” Michael’s eyes stretch wide, involuntarily.

“Also, Sting, if you have a second, they say Maisy is refusing to eat again.” She pins Ashton with the same drill sergeant look.

Ashton frowns, though. “She came back _again_?”

“Some of ‘em just have attachment issues. Listen, good luck out there today. I’ll have them make an extra lunch for your friend,” she says, heading off into the depths of the building.

“He’s vegan!” Ashton calls after her, to which she only raises an acknowledging hand.

Michael's head is spinning. A lot of things just happened in a very short period of time and he's actively resisting the urge to leave and go wait out by the bike.

"Hey. You good, dude?" Ashton asks, doing his concerned little face scan again.

" _G–_ Yeah! Yeah, totally. Just a little overwhelmed, but it's gonna be good, right?" Michael says.

"Absolutely. Today's gonna be super fun. C'mon, we'll go dump our helmets and then go see about Maisy." Ashton leads him off with a hand to his shoulder.

"So, why do they call you Sting?" Michael asks, later.

They're headed down a maze of corridors that Michael could never hope to navigate by himself, each one looking identical to the last.

"Steve Irwin – he died from a stingray injury. I'm an Irwin. Sting is also a musician, and so am I. It stuck. Everyone around here has some kind of nickname. They'll probably have one for you, too, by the end of the day." Ashton stops them outside a perfectly plain, gray door. He puts his hand on the door handle, but doesn't push inside yet. Instead, he turns back to face Michael. "Okay, look: Maisy is a nervous girl, but she's super sweet. Just, no sudden movements, yeah?"

"Following your lead," Michael promises.

Ashton smiles at him and opens the door.

Maisy, as it turns out, is an octopus. She’s a coral red color and she practically smooshes herself against the glass of her tank when Ashton comes in. She reaches one of her tentacles out of the water to grip Ashton’s finger and pull his arm into the water for her to cuddle. Michael doesn’t know whether to stare or awwwww out loud.

So, instead, he says something real intelligent like, “She’s an octopus!”

“Septapus,” Ashton corrects, patting her head with the softest look Michael has ever seen on his face.

“Septa—”

“She lost a leg in a fishing accident, which is how I found her when I went to pull up the nets for the fish we catch for the penguins. She’d been a lot smaller, then. And since then, she’s never quite been able to let go. So, whenever we set her free, she always comes back. I’ve been trying to get her rehabilitated enough for at least the bigger tanks, but other animals scare her and she inks on them. Cam thinks we should find her a friend, but I’m kind of against going deep-diving for an octopus that’s already living its life in the ocean.”

As he talks, he reaches for a bucket and dumps some of its contents into the water. Maisy swats some of it towards her face with one of her tentacles, while Ashton keeps patting her head. Slowly, nervously, she feeds the food into her mouth. Ashton gives her a finger to hold as she does, which seems to soothe her even more.

“Thatta girl. My good girl, yeah? You gonna be good until lunch time?” Ashton asks her.

As if to illustrate that she will be, she lets go of his finger.

Michael is near tears. He’s always known Ashton loves the ocean, and the cool creatures in it, but this is a side of him Michael has only ever seen on rare occasions with his siblings. God, he’s so fucking beautiful it hurts. Suddenly, Michael is just sad — sad for himself, that he has this incredible human being in his life and he’s still so hopelessly in love with him, despite not having seen him for six years — and he can never have him.

“Hey,” Ashton says, putting a finger under Michael’s chin and tipping his face up so their eyes meet. “You okay? Something the matter?”

But Michael can’t bring himself to explain. So, instead, he pulls Ashton into another hug, burying his face in his best friend’s neck, and lets himself wallow for a minute. Ashton, like the angel he is, doesn’t push, only rubbing soothingly at Michael’s back.

“We should get to work. Don’t want Cam to fire me on my first day,” Michael says after a bit.

“She’d rip you a new one, but if she fires you, it means she’ll have to pick up the slack, and she does not have the time.”

They spend the morning feeding the fish and cleaning the enclosures while the park slowly fills up with people. It’s super hard work, and Michael is sweating like crazy before long. The upside, though, is so is Ashton. Around 11, his shirt comes off and gets stuffed halfway into the back pocket of his shorts. Michael responds by tripping over his own feet and falling directly into the seal pool.

“Mommy, that’s a strange-looking seal!” a little boy calls out, and Michael considers just drowning himself.

“Need a hand?” Ashton’s voice is full of laughter.

“You know, no. I’m good. Just, uh… cooling off. You should try it sometime,” Michael tries for nonchalance, scrubbing his wet hair out of his face.

“We have an employee pool and a very nice bathroom, in case you didn’t want to smell like wet dog.” Holding out a hand to him, Ashton treads carefully to get right to the edge of the pool.

“That might be… preferable.”

By the time they get inside, it’s their lunch break, anyway. Ashton sends him in the direction of the bathroom while he goes to grab their food. Michael takes a shower and scrubs the salt out of his skin and hair. It’s only as he gets out that he realizes he has nothing to wear now that isn’t still wet and reeks of saltwater. He wraps the towel he’d stolen around his waist and gets out.

“Looking good, Clifford.”

Michael jumps out of his skin a second time, almost dropping the towel. Jerking around, he finds Ashton leaning against the wall, shoveling oily fries into his mouth.

“Why do you live to torment me?” Michael grumbles, stepping awkwardly from foot to foot.

“It brings me a special kind of joy,” Ashton responds, conversationally. “Brought you clothes, by the way. It’s a minder’s uniform, but you’re definitely up for minding duty after food. So, get your butt dressed and eat your goddamn salad.”

“Some privacy, then, please?” Michael asks, finding the uniform next to what must be a styrofoam container of his salad, and picking up the pants.

“Anything for you,” Ashton says in passing, heading for the door. His eyes slide down Michael’s front before he smiles at him and goes to wait outside.

Michael meets him out in the hallway, quickly stuffing his salad into his mouth while Ashton leads him to what will most probably be his doom. He comforts himself with the fact that this is a one-time gig.

“Mikes, I’m sorry if this isn’t exactly what you had in mind,” Ashton says, then.

Michael looks up, a vicious frown on his face. “What?”

“This is just way more work than I thought it’d be. I didn’t know about the school groups.”

“Cry me a river, Irwin. Today has been incredible. You’re incredible.”

_Oh, God._

That last part had just… slipped out. And now Ashton is staring at him and Michael is blushing like crazy, his entire face probably a neon sign for Freudian slips. Maybe he’ll get lucky and the penguins will eat him alive.

“Michael? There you are! C’mon! These kids are going to murder a penguin today, I can feel it,” the girl from this morning comes to get him, dragging him off by the hand. The kids are already shrieking like a bunch of gulls over spilled ice-cream.

They end up letting him keep the uniform and he even gets a day’s wages, which he throws directly into the donations box. Cam actually comes out of her office to commend him for how he handled the kids and says he has a job at the oceanarium if he wants it. He politely declines, but promises to come visit again soon.

Ashton takes him home the long way around this time, and they head down Ocean Avenue at sunset. It’s so beautiful, Michael wishes he could snap a photo. When they pull up outside Michael’s building, he knows the pleasant ache in his bones means he’s sleeping well tonight. Ashton helps him off the bike before they both slip off their helmets.

“You wanna… come up for coffee?” Michael offers. “It’s decaf, but I have an espresso maker.”

“I’d lo—”

“Clifford. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen your legs.”

They both swing around to find Calum leaning, shirtless, against the front door of the building, arms crossed and eyes on Michael’s legs.

“They’re not bad legs,” Calum reassures.

“Thank you, Calum, for introducing me to an insecurity I didn’t know I had…” Michael squints over at him, against the dying sunlight glaring off the glass behind him.

“Dramatic as always. Was he this insufferable when you were kids?” Calum directs his question to Ashton.

“Worse. I feel like he’s come a long way since then,” Ashton assesses.

“I’m right here, you guys.” Michael looks from one of them to the other.

“Well, get your butt inside, then, son. Your curfew is in ten minutes, and I’m not letting this obvious troublemaker suck your face off in the street,” Calum says, pushing the door open behind himself.

“I’m murdering you,” Michael threatens, beelining for Calum. “Your ass is grass, you hear me?” At the door, he grabs ahold of the back of Calum’s neck and then turns back to Ashton. “I had a great day. Thanks for everything. Text me when you’re home safe, yeah? I’ll reply with the details of Calum’s funeral.”

Ashton waves them off with a weird look on his face, but Michael totally misses it while man-handling Calum up the stairs.

  
_"If there's any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something."_  
– Before Sunrise, 1995

  
Michael wakes up the next morning to the smell of baking bread and an insistent stiffness in his limbs. The previous day with Ashton comes back to him: the bike rides, the lingering looks, Ashton’s eyes on his bare chest in the locker room… If Michael didn’t know better, he could so easily convince himself it’d been a date; that if he’d gotten Ashton up here, it could’ve led to something else. Maybe Ashton could’ve been the one currently pushing into his room, instead of Calum.

Well, at least he has breakfast.

“Good morning, you fucking corpse. It’s noon. I hope you slept well,” Calum says, sliding the tray in his hands across Michael’s lap.

“Noon? I must’ve been more tired than I thought,” he croaks out, getting himself upright.

“I’m just happy it doesn’t stink like sex in here,” Calum levels with him. He makes himself comfortable at the end of the bed, cross-legged. His hair is super fluffy and he’s still in pajama bottoms, as usual. Michael finds him utterly adorable when he’s like this.

“Thank you for my breakfast,” Michael smiles softly at him.

Calum returns his smile, running a hand through his curls. “So, since you wouldn’t tell me about your date yesterday, am I allowed to hear about it today?”

Michael picks up his toasted bagel and dips it into his tea. “Firstly, it wasn’t a date. I told you — he’s straight—”

“Then, why was he giving you come-to-bed eyes when he dropped you off yesterday?” Calum interjects, eyebrows raised.

“You’re delusional,” Michael decides.

“You know what? You’re going to believe whatever you believe. Where’d he take you?”

Michael tells him about the oceanarium, about Maisy and the penguins and falling into the seal pool. Calum cracks up at that, his eyes getting crinkly as hell and his laugh turning into something a little tearful. Michael leaves out the exchange in the bathroom, wanting to cling onto at least a tiny bit of denial. For some reason, the more Calum plays into Michael’s desires, the more painfully clear it becomes that he can never have what he wants. So, he keeps all the most poignant parts to himself.

That doesn’t stop Calum, though.

“Sounds like a date to me,” he says, digging into a bagel from Michael’s tray, “but I won’t push it. As long as he was nice to you, and you had fun, I’m happy.”

Michael stares at him for a minute, until Calum looks down at his food, a blush spreading out from his neck. It makes Michael wonder if Calum isn’t maybe way more affected by this Ashton thing than he’s letting on. All Michael can think to say, though, is an earnest thank you. He squeezes Calum’s hand for good measure.

“So, when are you seeing him again?” Calum asks, helping himself to another bagel.

“Not sure,” Michael admits. “He texted me when he got home last night, but we haven’t made any more plans.”

Calum nods, chewing for a bit. After swallowing, he frowns. “Do you think maybe he wants you to make the next move?”

“What move, though? He genuinely is straight. Does he just expect me to also make an effort to keep the friendship alive? Because I can just text him memes or something; start a Snapchat streak…”

But Calum is glaring at him again. “Hopeless. Utterly and completely hopeless.”

He gets up, then, and takes all the dishes in, leaving Michael spinning. Does Ashton seriously expect something big in return? The oceanarium was pretty huge, and maybe even a little personal. The little visit with Maisy had felt pretty personal. Michael’s mind jumps automatically to the bathroom, to Ashton’s eyes roaming his chest…

 _Stop it_ , he berates himself, picking up his phone. _Just text him. Ask him what he’s doing. Maybe that’ll lead to more plans._

But it turns out Ashton has been texting him all morning. He has five unread texts from him, but instead of answering each one individually, Michael hits the FaceTime button, only remembering that Ashton could probably be at work on the third ring. He doesn’t have a chance to end the call, though, before Ash is answering, his smiling face lighting up the screen.

“Mikey!” Ashton booms down the line.

“Can you be less awake? You’re making me look bad,” Michael teases.

“Did I wear you out yesterday?” Does he imagine the note of suggestion in Ashton’s voice?

_Of course, you are. Calum is getting into your head._

“Manual labor tends to have that effect, yeah,” Michael smiles, trying to improve the state of his hair, which his front-facing camera has informed him is tragic.

“And here I was, hoping I could rope you in for weekends. You looked so sexy in your minder’s uniform, taking charge of those tweens. It gave me literal chills to witness. Breath-taking, Clifford.”

“Bite me.”

“Kinky. We can discuss it,” Ashton concedes.

“What if we didn’t and say we did?” Michael counters.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Ashton looks mock-sad.

“You take far too much pleasure in my torment, Irwin. Where are you, anyway?” He’d just noticed the slightly muffled sound of foot traffic on Ashton’s end. Also that he appears to be wearing a super nice, fitted shirt — but that’s besides the point.

“Airport. I was trying to tell you, but you slept all morning. I have a shoot in Hawaii this week, but I’ll be back Friday afternoon. Maybe we can do something then?” Ashton says, looking a little sheepish.

Michael puts on a melodramatic frown. “But… I’ll miss you.”

In the distance, they hear an announcement over the intercom. Ashton gets up.

“I’ll miss you, too, baby, but I’ll text you whenever I can. I gotta go for now, okay? Talk soon.” He says this while apparently weaving through people.

“Talk soon! Safe flight!”

They hang up.

“Did he just call you ‘baby’?” Calum asks from the door, making Michael jump.

“Can you fuck off?” Michael glares at him.

Calum lifts his hands in surrender and leaves. A moment later, Michael hears his front door open and then close again. Not that he’s paying very much attention. Had Ashton called him baby?

The rest of the week’s texts don’t make this any clearer, despite Calum mocking him all week.

“Hey, going to grab dinner! Wanna join me, baby?” he calls from Michael’s front door.

“You say that again and the next thing you’ll be eating is my ass,” Michael responds in a jovial tone.

“Wait. Promise?” Calum looks far too keen.

Michael throws his shoe at him, but Calum shuts the door too quickly and it just thuds against the wood.

Ashton’s Instagram is just photos upon photos of him surfing and hanging out with equally beautiful people at cool beach bars or aesthetic shots of his hotel room. Michael has to fight himself to keep from liking and commenting on each one. Which is made slightly better by Ashton texting him all those pics, too. They talk constantly, about everything and anything, just like they used to. By Wednesday, Michael is genuinely missing him. Not even in a romantic way or anything. He’s just craving Ashton’s company.

He’s staring at his phone screen that night, looking and feeling forlorn, when it lights up like some divine miracle. It’s Ashton, calling him. He’s so dumbstruck by the coincidence that he almost forgets to answer. Almost.

“Smash.”

“Mikey.” His voice is quiet and warm. “So good to hear your voice.”

“You a little tipsy, Smash? Or do you just genuinely miss me this much?” Michael almost doesn’t ask the last part, but he’s feeling especially unloved tonight and Calum is out. Even if Ashton’s answer is teasing and sarcastic, Michael knows it won’t be mean. He can take even a pretend confession of longing.

“Miss you. Can’t wait to see you Friday. You still up for hanging out?”

Michael isn’t imagining it. Ashton does sound a little out of it. Probably he partied a bit too hard and now he’s mellowing out.

“‘Course I am, bud. You still having fun that side?” Michael asks, gently.

“ _Bud_ ,” Ashton spits. “It’s no fun here without you.”

Michael frowns. “Anything I can do to help?”

Ashton gasps down the line, before cursing softly. Michael sits up on the couch, his frown deepening.

“Ash? You good?”

Then, the call goes dead.

Michael stares at his phone screen for a minute, wondering whether or not he should call back. He hopes Ashton is okay, or, at the very least, not alone. He remembers how he used to worry about Ashton back in high school, when he’d go to parties with his sports buddies and Michael would stay home, playing video games. His stomach twists the same way now, knowing Ashton is super far away and he can’t just beg his mum for a lift to go pick him up.

But then his phone rings again.

“Ashton? Please, just tell me you’re alright?” His voice comes out far more worried than he’d intended.

“Fine! Sorry, Mikes. Sorry. Everything’s fine.” He even sounds a lot more lucid.

Michael breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank fuck. Dude, you scared me. You can’t do that to me.”

Ashton snorts. “Don’t be so sure.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it. Listen, this band I like is playing a club on Friday night. It’s a small show and I only know about it because Ash is friends with the bassist. You wanna go with me? He said he can save us two tickets.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that sounds great! Can’t remember the last time I heard live music,” Michael says.

“Cool. I’ll text you the venue, then we link up there. Sound good?” And now Ashton’s extremely chipper, like he’s hiding something. Michael is so extremely confused.

“Yeah. Great. Can’t wait!” Michael plays along.

Calum lets himself into Michael’s place, then, carrying what looks suspiciously like Thai food. Michael loves him.

“See you then. Sweet dreams. Love you,” Ashton says, rushed.

“Night.”

But the line is already dead. Michael frowns so deep he gets a headache from it.

“What’s up with you?” Calum wants to know, dishing up.

“I just had the weirdest conversation with Ashton,” Michael recounts, joining Calum at the kitchen counter. “He sounded oddly mellow when he called — kinda like he was drunk, but then he, like, gasped at me calling him ‘bud’ or something, swore and hung up. And then he called back and sounded super weird. He was calling to say he missed me or something. I hope he’s okay.”

Calum stares at him. “Did he call you just to hear your voice?”

“Yeah! Wait, how could you know that?” 

But Calum is cracking up, then. He looks back up at Michael’s confused expression for a moment, but then goes right back to laughing hysterically. Michael is getting seriously annoyed, but nothing he tries gets Calum to tell him why he’s so fucking amused. Michael takes his Thai food into his bedroom and locks his door.

Michael is thinking of exactly this when he pitches up at the club Friday night. The show starts in ten minutes and the pavement outside is packed, the bouncers working as fast as they can to let people in. He looks around for Ashton, but he's nowhere to be seen. So, Michael goes to wait in line and hopes to God Ashton shows up before he gets to the front.

As it is, Ashton comes running up to him just in the nick of time. He drags Michael out of the line and towards an alley at the side of the building. There, he bangs on a door and waits, Michael’s hand clasped in his.

"Uh, hi? Do I at least get to hug you?" Michael asks, mildly overwhelmed.

"Oh, God. Yes! Hi, Mikes," Ashton says, practically crushing them together. Near Michael's ear, he continues, "I missed you so much. Sorry I'm late. Ashley's girlfriend broke up with her and Luke, and they were both messes on our couch when I got in today. I tried to get them to come out with us, but they wanna just wallow tonight. Anyway, you look great. Thanks so much for coming."

Michael squeezes him. "Thanks for inviting me. You don't look too bad yourself, Vogue. How was Hawaii?" 

Next to them, the door opens and they're ushered inside by someone Michael can barely make out. Ashton seems to be talking to whoever they are, but it’s so loud Michael can’t hear a thing. Ashton reaches back and grabs his hand, giving a little wave to the shadowy person before leading Michael through a door. And suddenly they’re right by the stage. The moment they get situated, the lights go out and out come the band.

Michae’s eyes stretch wide. “I KNOW THEM! THEY’RE MY FAVORITE BAND RIGHT NOW!”

“I KNOW,” Ashton yells back, smiling wide. “I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE CHECKED YOUR SPOTIFY. HAWAII WAS GREAT, BY THE WAY, BUT I’D MUCH RATHER JUST BE HERE WITH YOU.”

Michael has literally never wanted to kiss another human being so badly. And it’d be so, so, so perfect, too. He could just grip the front of Ashton’s velvety button-down and pull him in, connect their mouths and kiss the daylights out of him. And that’d probably be the end of their night, their time together and their friendship altogether. So, instead, Michael takes his hand and pulls him in for a hug, brushing a kiss to Ashton’s cheek.

“Can Ashton Irwin please make out with his boyfriend on his own time? Thank you.”

Michael jerks back, but Ashton is laughing and staring up at the stage. The lead-singer had spoken over the microphone and Ashton is currently flipping him off. Michael feels about ready to pass out. Especially when the entire crowd cheers and Ashton looks adorably embarrassed, his cheeks pinking and his expression becoming flustered. Michael finds himself thinking he can’t exactly blame Calum for thinking Ashton has a thing for him, because there are so many signs.

The rest of the night is a blissful blur of lights, thumping drumbeats, hypnotic basslines and so much dancing. Ashton goes just as hard as he does, and Michael had sincerely forgotten just how much of a dancer he used to be. He remembers hearing around school that the girls used to love taking Ashton to school functions, because he was just so fun to dance with. Tonight is no different. Michael is literally drunk just off Ashton, having and wanting nothing but water in his system.

It all comes to head when they play this dreamy balad that Michael has been known to cry-sing in his car on the way to work in the mornings. The lights get all dim and everyone quiets down, the drummer getting up from his kit and the two guitarists coming to sit on stools at the front of the stage with the lead-singer. The first notes of the intro start and Michael gets a little misty-eyed, but keeps it together, much to his credit. Ashton, however, seems to be adamant to undo him. He wraps his arms around Michael’s chest from behind and rests his chin on Michael’s shoulder, swaying them. Not overthinking it for once, Michael just reaches up to cling to Ashton’s arms and drops his head back onto Ashton’s shoulder.

And then it’s all over. Ashton wants to take him to meet the band, but apparently they aren’t hanging back tonight. It doesn’t even matter. Tonight hadn’t been about the band for Michael. He just wants to keep holding Ashton’s hand and maybe press him to a wall in the alley next to the building. At least, Ashton doesn’t seem to have any desire to let go of Michael.

They leave through the front entrance. As they wade through the crowd, Ashton shifts his grip on Michael, unclasping their hands just to twine their fingers together. Michael visibly swoons, leaning into Ashton a little. He gives Michael this sexy little sideways smirk, which is seriously making Michael consider ruining their friendship. As it stands, he clings onto his friend like he’s trying to occupy the same space as him, and he refuses even to consider that he might be imagining Ashton melting into him a little. Not tonight. Tonight, Michael is letting himself pretend this is a date.

“You wanna go grab food?” Ashton murmurs near his ear. “I know this 24-hour Korean place not too far from here.”

“Ugh, I would kill for some spicy tea right about now,” Michael says.

“I’ll get us an Uber,” Ashton says, smiling.

“Love you so much, Smash.”

Ashton’s breath catches in his throat. Michael definitely hears it. His head jerks up to look Ashton dead in the eye and the guy isn’t breathing, just staring at Michael. Staring at his mouth. Michael is going to faint on this crowded sidewalk.

“A-ashton Irwin?”

The two of them jump apart.

At Ashton’s elbow is a girl, long black hair spilling down her back and eyes staring up at him like she’d very much like to have him for dinner. Judging by her outfit, she’s just Ashton’s vibe — all off-beat goth and sensual. Michael feels like he’s underdressed at a costume party.

“You’re Ashton, right?” the girl asks.

“Depends on who wants to know,” Ashton delivers the line with practiced smoothness, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, um, my name is KayKay? I’m just a huge fan, is all.”

While the two of them converse, Michael’s eyes are riveted to Ashton and his signals. His flirting is mindless, so easy and wholesome, and KayKay is eating it up, moving into his space and making him laugh. In Michael’s pocket, his phone vibrates. He checks it gratefully.

“omw past club. u need a ride?” Calum texts him.

“pls. waiting out front.” Michael responds.

In front of him, Ashton and KayKay are still just chatting away, Michael entirely forgotten. He smiles along, shaking hands in his pockets. Thankfully, Calum pulls up a minute later.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna head out. You two have fun,” Michael smiles at the two of them.

“You’re leaving?” Ashton looks crest-fallen. “What about Korean?”

“You two can still go. Thanks for tonight, Ashton.”

Michael opens the passenger-side door of Calum’s car, waving Ash off. As he shuts himself inside, he hears KayKay say, “I love Korean.”

If Michael is quiet and teary all the way home, that’s no one’s business but his. And, for once, Calum has the sense not to say anything.

  
_“That’s the problem with heartbreak: to you, it’s like an atomic bomb, and to the world, it’s just really cliché.”_  
— Drinking Buddies, 2013

  
Michael isn’t broken up. He’s just not, okay? He’s always known Ashton is straight. He’s just mad at himself for getting so swept up. But no more. He knows where he stands now, Ashton’s puppy dog eyes or not. They’re best friends and he’s happy just to have that with his favorite person in the whole world.

Calum has no misconceptions about staying strong, though. He’s been back on the dating scene for a bit now. Tonight had been his big date with this guy he’d met on Grindr weeks ago — a guy he’d essentially given up for Michael. Knowing how well the two of them had clicked, however, had been what’d motivated Michael to forego his own frustration with the Ashton situation in order to help Calum.

And so, when Calum throws Michael’s bedroom door open and climbs into bed beside him, sobbing something terrible, Michael immediately puts down his phone.

“Cal?” He turns around and Calum burrows closer, entirely smothering himself in Michael’s chest. “Cal, hey. Are you okay? I mean, obviously you’re not, but what’s the matter? Who am I murdering?”

Calum only cries harder, though, clinging onto Michael like he might just blow away if he lets go. Michael holds him tight, rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words against his forehead. Eventually, his breathing evens out and his sobs still, his frantic clinging the only sign he’s still upset. Michael brushes his lips against Calum’s skin.

“You stay tonight, okay? You don’t have to be alone.”

“Love you, Mikey.”

The next morning, Michael cooks bacon for the first time in years. He makes French toast and coffee, and runs to the corner for chocolate and more Dr. Pepper than he can comfortably carry. All of this, he takes into his room, to find Calum watching Netflix and crying.

“Hood, I made you bacon, but you’ve got to stop crying. No pathetic Hollywood hack on Grindr is worth that.”

Calum wipes his tears on Michael’s coverlet and then makes grabby hands at his food. Michael gets back into bed next to him. He offers Michael some of his French toast, but he declines, just sipping his tea.

“Now, am I murdering this fucker slow or are we looking at vengeance?” Michael asks.

“Can it be both? Torturous death for being a fucking pretentious asshole, and vengeance for him calling me ‘too camp’,” Calum grumbles darkly.

“He spent months going around town with a paper bag on his head!” Michael only gets more pissed off when his tea burns his tongue.

“I hate him, Michael. _Hate_ him. He was such a dick all night. I know we expected he might just be a catfish, but now I’m wishing he was.” Calum stuffs a bacon-and-banana-covered piece of bread, practically dripping cholesterol, into his mouth. “Oh, and I’m not the first person he’s done this to, either. No, apparently there is a literal subreddit and a Tumblr tag dedicated to his sick little game. It’s all some fucked up fantasy to him. He just wants to see how fast he can make you fall for him. We weren’t even out for an hour last night, before he was asking me to blow him!” His words get more and more muffled as he keeps burning through his French toast. “An’ ah wah so s’upid, be’ause ah did! Ah ‘igured maybe ‘e wah jus’ nervous.” He swallows, chasing it with a huge gulp of coffee. “After giving him the head of his life, this jackass sits me down and explains how I’m not exactly what he’s looking for — like he’s some fucking casting director and I’d just sucked his cock for a role! He spent, like, a full ten minutes just digging into me, and I couldn’t say or do a thing, because we were in a crowded restaurant. I didn’t even know where the fuck we were, and he just kicked me to the curb to find my own way home.”

Calum breathes hard when he’s finished speaking, like he’d run some kind of marathon. There’s color high on his cheeks and he actually looks a little feverish. That is, until he bursts back into tears. Michael takes the food from him and then pulls him into a hug. Calum lets himself be comforted for a minute, before he’s sitting back up and drying his face.

“I’m fine. _Fine_. You’re right — he doesn’t deserve this. _Fucking_ sociopath.”

“Okay, but what if I told you I had a plan that would achieve both vengeance and social death?” Michael says, his mind working. His numb tongue feels funny in his mouth.

“Does it involve public scandal?” Calum asks, reaching for the chocolate.

“Absolutely.”

“Then, I’m all for it, whatever it is. Just don’t get caught. We can’t afford a Hollywood lawyer.” Calum gives him the kind of bored look that has Michael convinced he’s going to be just fine, douchebag actors be damned.

“Do you reckon your friends on Reddit and Tumblr would be interested in helping us?” Michael asks.

“Pretty sure,” Calum smirks, reaching for his phone.

Which is why Michael and Ashton are presently in a nondescript rental van, driving at an inconspicuous speed through an extremely rich neighborhood. They know exactly where they’re going, but they have to find a good place to park that isn’t just out front of this dude’s house.

“And Calum actually went out with this fucking ass-clown?” Ashton turns into the driveway of a house that looks vacant.

“We thought he was catfish, but he was so sweet to Calum that we figured that if he doesn’t look like he says, Cal wouldn’t mind very much.” Michael reaches into the back for their masks, handing Ashton one.

“And he just does this? Victimizes people to see if he can? Fuckin’ sick puppy, that,” Ashton assesses, slipping his mask snugly into place.

When they’re completely covered, they each grab a knapsack and head out, sticking to the shadows. The walk is quiet at first, Michael focused on leading them to the right house. He feels Ashton get antsy next to him, knows he probably wants to talk about the other night, but Michael hadn’t gotten back in touch to vindicate him. He just couldn’t ask Calum to help him, because utter anonymity can only benefit Michael on the chance he’s caught.

“Look, Mikey…” Ashton starts.

Michael raises a hand to silence him. “Don’t say my name — it’s incriminating. And if this is about the other night, I don’t care. She’s pretty. Hope you two had fun.”

They finally reach the right house and Michael rehashes the plan. Ashton confirms, and then they split up. Keeping an eye out for security cameras, they travel through the garden, on either side of the house. As he goes, Michael takes out his first can of spray paint, along with his first batch of flyers.

There’s a point where he passes a big bay window and catches some movement inside. Reacting on instinct, he falls flat, which is clever in theory, but not when there’s some kind of metal pipe slamming right into his abdomen. Tears spring to his eyes and he cusses lowly. Fighting his overwhelming urge to run, Michael waits another minute, just to be on the safe side.

Getting back to his feet is painful at best, but he does it as fast as possible. He clutches his side as he continues on, scanning for more pipes and windows. If he gets caught off-guard again, he wouldn’t put it past this dude to literally kill him. Jail would be a welcome alternative.

He reaches the wall he’d claimed for himself, eventually. As he primes the can of spray paint, he hopes Ash is still okay and hard at work. He puts up the first flyer and spray paints it to the wall with bright yellow paint. The first pack goes well, sticking beautifully, and he finishes the yellow. 

The next pack is from the Grindr crowd, Calum at the forefront. Michael remembers reading through the screenshots when he’d picked out which ones to use. Most had made him angry, but some had made him downright sick. Calum’s had been some of the latter, and Michael has never experienced rage like that in his life. Calum had told this fucker some deeply personal stuff, and he’d repaid Calum by using him and discarding him. This is what fuels Michael to work as efficiently and quickly as possible.

Michael nears the widow again. On a whim, he decides to head past it completely. He digs into a third stack of flyers and tosses the near-empty can of orange paint back into his knapsack.

He’s barely gotten started, though, when something like a wicked screeching sounds up from his left. He pauses mid-spray, frantically scanning the garden. It’s a cat — the most demonic-looking hellspawn he’s ever seen. Its fur is sticking up in all directions and it looks very much feral, but there’s around its neck and it appears pretty comfortable with its surroundings — just not with Michael. As it approaches him, its spitting and hissing only intensifies. Michael finds himself backing up slowly, flyers forgotten, but that only makes this thing call after him, screeching like a bat out of hell.

“Ssshhh…” Michael tries to placate the animal in a whisper-scream. “Shut up, God. Go drag some poor soul into the Styx or something!”

They’re nearing the front of the house now and this mangy cat won’t fuck off. Maybe if he takes a run at it…?

But then his back collides with something solid and he’s spinning around fast enough to give himself whiplash.

“Oh, fuck.”

His eyes bug out behind his mask. In front of him is the perpetrator himself, looking about as murderous as Michael had anticipated. Giving into his instincts then, he turns tail and runs at warp-speed, vaulting himself clear over the cat. He can hear the second set of footsteps gaining on him, so he runs flat-out, the breath ripping out of him in painful gasps, his bruised ribs in fresh agony.

“ _WHO SENT YOU?!_ ” comes the cry from behind him. Michael barely has enough time to realize how ridiculously alike this guy sounds to his cat, before he starts up his shrieking again. “ _IF YOU THINK YOU’RE GETTING AWAY WITH THIS THIS, YOU’VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING, PAL!_ ”

They’re in the backyard now, which honestly looks like Michael is either playing a horror PC game, or stepped right into an acid trip. He doesn’t slow down, though — doesn’t dare — staying close to the house and hoping all the commotion spurs Ashton on to run and get the van. The corner is looming up fast and Michael prays his friend is gone; wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something were to happen to Ashton, no matter how weird things are between them right now.

And naturally, as comedic relief would have it, Michael trips on literally nothing and hits the ground at a skid. He feels his shirt tear, and the pain lancing through his ribs threatens to pull him under. He knows he’s done for, but he can’t bring himself to face his end head-on. When a dark mass races past him, he’s convinced it’s the cat — but… why would the cat be coming from in front of him?

There’s a series of thuds and then Michael is being hoisted to his feet.

“I got you, but we have to move fast. He won’t be out for long,” Ashton pants near his ear.

Michael tries walking, but the pain in his ribs makes his legs buckle. Without ceremony or warning, Ashton swings him up, into his arms, and then takes off running. Michael clings into his back for dear life, knowing their only hope now is to get away undetected. Ashton is smart and sticks to the garden again. He holds Michael close, but somehow still manages to pick a sure, fast path through the bushes — or maybe he’s just trampling all the asshole’s flowers and not giving a shit.

Around them, the sun has set and the street lights are coming on, one by one. They’re coming up on the big front gate, that Ashton had taken off its motor earlier. They freeze in their escape when they spot a cop car coming up the drive. Thankfully, it passes them without incident, while also leaving the gate open for them. Ashton pauses, though, and puts Michael down.

“Ash,” Michael hisses, but he only holds up a hand to shut Michael up.

He digs around in his knapsack, but his back is to Michael, so it’s impossible to see what he’s up to. Michael isn’t given very long to worry. Ashton comes back a minute later, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He picks Michael back up and then heads down the drive at a jog. 

Ashton had made the executive decision to drive away in the opposite direction that they’d come in, which is probably there’s a single LAPD vehicle chasing after them. Michael reckons he’d probably be yelling super unhelpful advice right now, but he’s in too much pain to do much besides cling on tight enough to crack one of his fingernails.

“Just hold tight, yeah? I’m gonna lose them. Genius having us remove the plates,” Ashton says, foot flat on the gas.

They rocket around a corner and slip right through an intersection, a stream of oncoming traffic blocking off the cop car’s pursuit. Ashton doesn’t slack off until he manages to get them under a bridge and parked in some kind of loading dock. By then, tears are running, unbidden, down Michael’s cheeks. The pain is something unbearable at this point, his ribs pounding in time with his heart.

“Let me see,” Ashton offers, reaching for Michael’s shirt.

Figuring it can’t get much worse, he turns to show Ashton his right side. Unfortunately, he also catches sight of it himself and a sob escapes him, spilling fresh tears down his face. Ashton stays calm, though, and drags his knapsack closer. Out of it, he pulls a first-aid kit, which Michael can’t believe he hadn’t thought of himself. If his fall had resulted in bleeding, he’d be waking up in a prison cell tomorrow. As it stands, Ashton gets this kind of sterile-smelling pad out of a vacuum-sealed packet and then places it over the bruising. He adds another one and then tapes it in place super gently. After a minute or so, whatever those pads were soaking in starts seeping into Michael’s skin and, blissfully, numbing the pain. He slumps back into his seat, trying to even out his breathing.

“You good, Mikes?” Ashton frowns, looking genuinely concerned.

Michael isn’t having it, though. He’s been through too much tonight, and he feels slightly put on. “Why’d you ditch me for the girl?”

Ashton gapes at him.

“The girl! Kayla, or whatever her name was. We were having such a good time, and you were gonna get us an Uber, and then you just started flirting with this girl and blowing me off entirely. Why? Did you take her home?” Michael knows he sounds super petty right now. He can’t bring himself to care much, though. He needs some way to get rid of all these confusing Ashton-centric feelings in his chest at all times, and Ashton had no right to make him feel stupid that night — whether he’d intended it to have date vibes or not.

“I— _No_. No, I didn’t. She looked pretty keen, but the only person I’d wanted to leave with was you. After you went home, I told KayKay good night and asked Ashley if she could come pick me up. Mikey, I’m super sorry. I didn’t mean to blow you off. She just… cornered me. She’s a fan. I can’t just tell her to get bent. You know what social media’s like.” And he sounds sorry, too. Michael hates it. How is he supposed to stay mad at Ashton, feel hurt by him, if he’s this reasonable and remorseful?

Even more so when he says things like “the only person I’d wanted to leave with was you”. Michael truly hates himself sometimes. Why can’t he just stop this senseless pining?

 _Because he likes you back!_ Calum’s voice cries out in his head.

He wants to go home. He tells Ashton this.

“But can we not be in a fight anymore? Please? It’s been eating me up for days,” Ashton admits.

“No more fighting. Sorry I was a brat. I guess there are some things I just can’t outgrow,” Michael relents. His side is down to a slight twinge now and he’s utterly fried, his eyes threatening to droop shut any second.

“Not your fault. I’m out of Mikey-practice. Still love me?” He gives Michael this pout he’d last seen when they were kids, arguing over Ashton liking the jocks and the cheerleaders too much.

Just like when they’d been kids, Michael gives him a tired sideways smirk. “Love you forever, Smash.”

Ashton looks like the cat who got cream all the way home.

_“…doused in pink paint when the sprinkler system came on. No sign of the perpetrators can be found on any CCTV footage. However, their message is received loud and clear…”_

“OH MY GOD!” Calum explaims when they tramp through Michael’s front door together. He comes to meet them in the kitchen. “You painted his entire yard pink? Fuck, I love you guys.”

But Michael turns carefully to Ashton. “We painted his entire yard pink?”

“Must’ve been while your face was gravity-checking the back porch.” Ashton crosses his arms, leaning nonchalantly with his hip against the counter.

“You know what, I’ll let that slide for saving my life. I owe you a beer for that.”

Calum looks between the two for them for a moment. “While I’m sure this is no doubt a riveting story, I’m exhausted.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Michael’s cheek and then goes over to do the same with Ashton. “My heroes. Ash, if you’re still here in the morning, I’ll take you both out for breakfast.”

“Work, sorry,” Ashton excuses.

“I have an early morning, too, actually,” Michael puts in, “but don’t worry about it, bud. He just got what he deserved.”

Calum nods, looking a little sad. Ashton wraps him in a hug. Michael follows suit, ignoring the spike of agony in his side.

When Calum’s left them to put himself to bed, Michael suddenly feels very awkward in his own kitchen with Ashton just standing there. Him coming up had not been part of the plan, and suddenly Michael felt like a teenager having a boy over, knowing his parents won’t approve. He brings his brain to a screeching halt before it has the chance to revisit a particularly awkward memory of his mother forbidding him from having ‘anyone’ upstairs in his room with the door closed, which he’d suspected had been code for ‘Ashton’, despite Michael not being out yet. 

“Are you waiting for me to leave, too? Because I think I wanna take another look at your ribs first…” Ashton trails off, looking about as awkward as Michael.

Ashton doesn’t get awkward.

 _He’s so totally into you, you pavement-squashed gum-wad!_ Calum’s voice is so clear in his head, Michael almost swings back to face the door to see if he’d come back.

“No! No. Sorry. No, you don’t have to go. I’m just in my head. I can make us some coffee, if you want? Is decaf okay?” Michael moves over to the machine.

“Decaf is great. Thanks, Mikes.”

He can hear the smile in Ashton’s voice, which has him smiling into his coffee filter as he makes them each a mug. Ashton goes to make himself comfortable on the couch Calum vacated, throwing the blanket he’d left behind over his legs. Michael hands him his mug, kicks off his shoes and goes to curl up in his favorite armchair. Actually, it’s his favourite by necessity, because Calum always claims the couch.

“So, do you really have work tomorrow?” Michael asks him, quirking an eyebrow. “I ask, because I would not in the slightest blame you for wanting to get out of breakfast with Calum. He’s more a beer and peanuts type. Watching him eat full meals is not something one recovers from easily.”

“Noted,” Ashton replies. “But, yeah. Tomorrow I have an all-day fitting and screen testing for a shoot I’m doing this weekend. It’s supposed to be fun. My manager let me know it’s some kind of BDSM-vibe.”

“Don’t look so excited, Smash. It might send the wrong message,” Michael teases over the top of his coffee.

“That I actually condone the capitalist regime and would do anything to maintain a lifestyle that is unnecessarily lavish and self-indulgent?” Ashton rambles off.

“Exactly. We can’t have that. Think of your fans, how disappointed Kami would be.”

“Her name is KayKay, and you can stop it now. She’s no threat to you,” Ashton teases right back.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Irwin. Ugh, I’m just _such_ a big fan! Can I get an autograph? A photo? Blow you in an alley, perhaps?” Michael drags him to hell and back, having way too much fun.

That is, until Ashton blushes furiously, and Michael wants to kick himself for being so tactless. He lives with his damned foot in his mouth, and he’s usually so good at keeping it in check. But Ashton’s always been his weakness.

“Sorry, mate…” Michael tries to sound as sincere as possible. 

Ashton clears his throat. “No. It’s fine. Sorry. I’m being stupid.”

Michael frowns, confused, but then Ashton’s smiling at him and he drops it. Remembering his earlier vow to himself to quit his pining, he decides to extend an olive branch of sorts.

“If you’re cool with borrowing something of mine to wear tomorrow, you can stay over tonight, if you want…? We can watch movies until we pass out,” Michael offers. “Like old times.”

“Yeah? I’d like that. You’ll let me take care of you first, though, right?” 

Now, it’s Michael’s turn to blush into his toes. Instead of looking awkward or apologetic, though, Ashton chuckles at him.

“I meant your ribs, gutter ball,” he says, getting to his feet and draining his coffee mug. “I don’t think we’re quite ready for second base yet.”

Michael empties his mug, too, handing the cup off to Ashton and hoping he doesn’t look as ready to disappear into the couch cushions as he feels. Ashton, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Probably the latter.

“Wait, if it’s your bare chest I’m feeling up, doesn’t that technically count as second base?”

Trying for nonchalance, Michael scrunches his hot face into a considering expression. “Maybe for girls? I don’t know. Our boobs aren’t as big as theirs.”

“Good point. Do you guys have heat packs anywhere? Or maybe you just have a hot water bottle?”

Michael directs him to where it is. Eventually, the two of them get comfortable in bed and Michael gets a movie going on Netflix while Ashton makes him strip so he can take another look at his ribs. Somehow, they look worse, but they don’t hurt as much. Ashton says this is because Michael is so pale — he bruises super easily. He tapes up the bruising and then makes Michael take a decent amount of pain meds. After which he makes him lay on his uninjured side so he can put the hot water bottle on Michael’s bruise.

He fades fast after that, though, the excitement of the night catching up with him. Behind him, Ashton draws lazy patterns on his bare back. The sounds of the movie lulls him into a doze, his limbs and head heavy. Right as he drops off, he feels something warm press up behind him and then a small, soft pressure to the top of his head.

The next morning comes to stab him right in the head. He feels like a reanimated corpse, every last one of his joints refusing to cooperate in a way that does not cause him pain. This is what he gets for not hitting the gym with Calum every day. It isn’t his alarm that’s waking him up, though. He suddenly remembers he’d shared a bed with Ashton last night, and he’s currently getting up. Michael feels Ashton’s arm slip from around him, gently so as not to jostle him, but then he’s leaning forward again — to press a kiss to Michael’s cheek.

Michael lets himself bask in the attention for a second, letting his stomach flip and his veins fill with sunlight and his heart jump up into his throat, but then he’s turning to see where Ashton is going. But he just leaves the room, soundlessly taking Michael’s elation with him. There’s the scuffle of him slipping back into his boots in the living room, and then he’s quietly letting himself out. Michael can’t bring himself to call after him.

He lays there, feeling miserable and lousy until his front door opens back up and his ears perk up like a dog who’s being promised a walk. Only, it’s Calum coming to make sure he’s on time for work. He helps Michael get through his shower relatively painlessly and then rebandages him. He’s trudging down into the subway before long.

He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and figures it’s probably a text, but it doesn’t stop, and so he fishes it out. It’s Ashton. He answers quickly.

“You on your way to work?”

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” Michael grumbles. “Great job ditching me this morning, by the way.”

There’s a call on Ashton’s end, which sounds like his name. Michael presumes he’s at his fitting. “Sorry, babe. I needed to deep cleanse my face, or Tasha would have my head. Listen, Ashley and Luke wanna have dinner tonight at our place. Calum says he’s in. Can I come pick you up at sevenish?”

It’d definitely been there this time. Michael heard it. He heard it and now he’s missing his train, collapsing onto the subway steps because his knees don’t want to hold him up. 

_Babe_.

“Mikey? Did I lose you in the subway?” Ashton asks through a very loud scuffle on his end.

“Sevenish?” Michael repeats, dumbly.

“Yeah! Gives us time to check out your ribs again. Calum is driving himself from the gym.”

Michael nods, before realizing Ashton can’t see him.

“Sevenish,” he agrees.

An annoyed female voice yells at Ashton, then, and, instead of waiting for some distracted apology, Michael just hangs up. He hears the AP system calling out his train, but he makes no move to get up.

  
_“…it’s just a party.”_

_“And hell is just a sauna.”_  
— 10 Things I Hate About You, 1999

  
By that night, Michael has cycled through denial and acceptance about a hundred times. But when he’d been getting ready for the dinner party, he’d spent some time considering things from Calum’s perspective. Not even the dull ache in his side could distract him from dropping his emotional predisposition to assess the situation the way he’s been assessing the merits of the projects the company he works for takes on.

And Calum is right: the signs are overwhelming. If it’d been anyone other than Ashton, Michael would’ve considered their time together as the prelude to a romantic relationship from the jump. So, as it stands, he’d very much like an explanation from Ashton — and he is determined to get one.

It doesn’t help that he’s nervous as all hell to meet Ashton’s friends. He knows that it’s probably not a big deal, but he wants to make a good first impression. Whether this thing between them ends up being just a friendship or something more, he’d like for the people in Ashton’s life to like him. And he knows he’s an acquired taste — has been his entire life, to which Ashton can attest. So, on top of being worked up over Ashton, he’s also trying to work out how to be himself while not being so extremely… himself.

He’s already dressed when there’s a knock at his door. Checking his hair, he tugs once at his shirt and then goes to answer. It’s also then that all his bravado fails him entirely. There, leaning artfully in the doorway, his hair slicked back and eyeliner making his hazel eyes pop something magnetic, is Ashton in a scuffed leather jacket that hangs off him stunningly. Michael is instantly convinced he’d let Ashton lead him to the edge of the earth, baby-ing him the entire time.

“Help me…”

Ashton’s eyes go wide immediately and he scans Michael over frantically. This probably means that Michael had said that out loud. What if the floor does him a huge solid and opens up to swallow him whole right this second?

“I mean, hi,” Michael tries again. “You look, um…”

“You, too…” Ashton says, his expression first softening and then changing into something… else.

“Are we going?” Michael says, patting himself down to make sure he has his keys, wallet and phone.

Ashton nods and leads the way downstairs. This time, they’re thankfully taking a car, which is great for Michael’s hair. Ashton holds the door open for him and Michael gets in stiffly. He knows he’s making everything super awkward, but he can’t even decide if he wants a happy ending anymore. Everything just feels too confusing, and he’s trying his hardest just to fight off his flight instinct. 

The radio switches on with the car, and some old Fall Out Boy filters quietly through the speakers. Michael lets the music fill his head for a minute, focusing on his breathing and trying to get his mind right.

“Look, for the sake of putting all my cards on the table and keeping things open between us, I should mention that my ex will be there tonight. We’re all good now, though! Zero weirdness. It just might come up, and I don’t want you to be caught off guard.”

Michael’s eyes fly open.

He turns to glare at Ashton. “You said you were roommates.”

Ashton looks apprehensive at his tone and expression. “We are roommates. We were roommates before we dated, and then we broke up, but it was amicable.”

“I just… Ashton, you’re making less and less sense to me. Your signals are so mixed, I’m beginning to wonder if we even speak the same language anymore, or whatever. Like, we’re friends, right? So, what does it matter to me about your ex-girlfriend—”

“Boyfriend.”

“…ex-boyfriend and how well you get on now? And don’t even get me started o—”

“Michael?” Ashton chances a few glances at him. “Mikes? You good, dude?” 

Michael’s gaze is fixed on a tiny flaw in the leather interior, his mouth gaping open repeatedly like a fish out of water. Ashton pulls over, putting the car in park, but keeping the hazards on. Then, he turns to Michael and puts a hand to his arm.

“Boyfriend?” Michael says, his head empty except for that one word.

“Yes? The title we give guys we are romantically involved with, without the commitment of marriage,” Ashton tries to lighten the mood.

“But you’re _straight_ ,” Michael spits out.

Ashton chokes on air and then dissolves into a loud guffawing. This ticks Michael off and he punches him in the shoulder.

“Quit your honking. This is serious.”

Getting himself under control, he wipes at the tears forming in his eyes carefully, so as not to disturb his eyeliner. After a few deep breaths, he turns back to Michael.

“You know, I’m a little offended. You’re supposed to be my best friend, but you’re literally the only one who hasn’t picked up on the apparently distinct air of bisexuality I exude.”

“Can you cut the theatrics for, like, ten seconds and explain yourself, Irwin? Actually, no. First, you’re going to drive me to the Korean place for tea, and then you’re going to explain yourself. Because I am straight-up losing my mind right now.” And, with that, Michael crosses his arms and pouts through the windshield.

“Anything for you,” Ashton smirks, putting the car back in drive and doing a U-turn.

While they drive, he has Michael send a text to explain that something major came up and that they won’t be there tonight. Unfortunately, Michael has to send the text to Calum, who responds with a winky emoji and “GET IT”. Michael snorts to himself, wondering what exactly the odds are of him actually getting laid tonight. Somehow, he doesn’t feel like they’re too bad right now.

They find a tiny table in the corner and Ashton ends up next to him instead of across from him. Total date move. Michael smirks to himself.

“What’s funny?” Ashton wants to know, eyes glinting mischievously as he leans forward onto his elbows.

“No,” Michael says, leaning away and back in his chair, shaking his hair so that it flops around his face a bit. “No, you’re going to answer a few questions for me first.”

“Proposal: what if we play a game? Question for question — and we have to be entirely honest. That way, we both find out what we want to know. But you have to ask carefully, because you’re only allowed one question at a time,” Ashton counters, accepting his tea from their waiter.

“Deal,” Michael says. “I’m going first: have the past few times we’ve spent decent amounts of time together been dates?”

“You mean, have I intended for them to be dates? Because that’s an entirely different question, Mikey, which means I don’t owe you a straight answer,” Ashton toys with him.

“Good thing you’re bi, then,” he fires back.

“Touché,” Ashton chuckles. “Okay. Yes, I intended for them to be dates. My turn: did you leave me high and dry in Sydney because you had a crush on me and didn’t know how to tell me, because you thought I was straight?”

“ _Have_ ,” Michael corrects, his shoulders slumping forward and his head going blissfully empty for the first time since he’d run into Ashton at that damn farmer’s market. “I _have_ a crush on you, and yes. That’s exactly why I left without saying goodbye.”

All the cockiness bleeds out of Ashton’s expression, then, leaving him looking soft and vulnerable and a little antsy.

“Do you… I mean, are your… Sorry,” Michael’s throat goes dry. He’d thought he could handle this. He knows how to deal with Ashton’s cockiness — apparently not so much his fear.

“ _Yes_ ,” Ashton whispers back, reaching for Michael’s hand. “Yes, I feel the same. I didn’t realize it until after you left. I guess I thought you’d just always be there, and then you weren’t and everything fell apart. I had to leave. But ever since I ran into you that Sunday, it’s like I can breathe again, like nothing is as bad as it seems. I am, Mikes. I’m in love with you.”

Michael twines their fingers together, a tear tracking its way down his cheek. “You know, I haven’t stopped thinking about you once the last six years? I kept thinking it’d get better, that I’d move on someday and there’d be someone else even more amazing than you. But no one else was even half as good. That’s why I didn’t come out in high school — not because I cared what people thought, but because I cared what you thought. I would’ve rather wanted your friendship than nothing at all.”

“I’m sorry I was so stupid, baby. I’m sorry I took you for granted. The past few weeks, I’ve only been trying my best to make it up to you; to make you feel as special as you are to me. And I know putting you to work, and then ditching you for a groupie, weren’t very smart ways to do that…”

“Smash, you showed me who you truly are in both those moments: the amazing, big-hearted, genuine, beautiful dude I’ve been in love with since we were kids. I’m the luckiest guy in the world, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” Michael smiles.

And before he can quite get his feet under him, Michael is falling into Ashton’s chest, their mouths meeting in a kiss that sweeps Michael clean off his feet, anyway. Ashton is better than his wildest daydreams and more amazing than he could ever have dreamed up, and he’s so incredibly, all-consumingly, crazy in love with him.

“You still wanna hit the party?” Michael asks, after they finally come up for air.

“Isn’t your building decidedly Calum-free for once, though?” Ashton asks, kissing along his jaw to his ear.

“As usual, I like your thinking, Smash,” Michael tries his hardest not to swoon where he (barely) stands.

Ashton drops a bill on the table and then pulls Michel into his side, leading the way out to the car. Michael shoots Calum a text on their drive home, which is just a thumbs-up and the eggplant emoji. Curious is how Calum responds two hours later with “same”, and nothing else.

  
_“You wanna know a secret?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“You’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever known.”_  
— 13 Going On 30, 2004

  
“Luke, get the door!”

“Oh my god, I am _chopping_! Cal?”

“It’s okay, I’ll just get it!” Ashton yells back from outside the apartment, trying to get his keys out while trying his hardest not to drop the dessert.

Michael reaches into his pocket and gets them for him.

“I love you,” Ashton breathes in his ear, brushing a kiss to his cheek.

Michael lets them in, realizing too late that he’s now entirely exposed himself by stepping inside first. But coming to greet them is not Ashley, or Mystery-Luke, but none other than the gorgeous, darling, very missed (Michael has come to realize) Calum Hood — as usual, sans a shirt. He comes and wraps Michael in a tight hug, that Michael returns.

“I miss you now we’re not neighbours anymore,” Calum frowns, holding Michael at arm’s length to look him over.

“I miss you, too. Don’t you wanna come sleep on my couch again for a few days, just to make the place feel less hollow?” Michael asks.

“Or maybe you can just come live here, too. It’s closer to work for you, anyway,” Calum reasons, leading Michael into the kitchen.

It’s about a month since the original dinner party. Things had just gotten so busy that they’d kept postponing until tonight, when Ashley had refused to take any more of anyone’s shit. Michael scans the place as they walk. It’s much nicer than his place, with spacious rooms and high ceilings and furniture that looks like it comes from some alt home catalogue. Somehow, it suits Ashton perfectly, this LA penthouse. Michael almost feels bad for depriving him of this for the last month. Especially once he sees the kitchen, which looks like any chef’s wet dream.

“Michael!” Ashley calls in greeting. “Glad Ashton finally stopped hogging you. It was making Cal sad.”

Calum lets go of Michael’s hand to go over and drape himself over Ashley’s back and kiss her neck. She smiles and turns her head to whisper something in his ear that makes him smile his cutest crinkly-eyed smile.

“Hey,” a melodic baritone greets from Michael’s left. He’s so colorfully dressed and in-tune with the feng-shui of the room that it takes Michael a minute to pick him out, until he comes over to wrap Michael in a hug. He smells like flowers, but delicately — like that’s just his natural odor, and not some kind of added scent. “I’m Luke. So happy to finally meet you.”

Michael hugs him back. “I’ve been calling you Mystery-Luke in my head all this time, because Ashton refused to tell me a thing about you. He says you’re an experience, and that the best way to get to know you is first-hand.”

“He flatters me,” Luke blushes adorably, his flawless blue eyes twinkling softly beneath a mop of bleached pale curls. He’s extremely pretty, Michael notes, and way more Calum’s type than Michael ever had any hope of being. Calum deserves gentle, caring souls, which Ashley and Luke so clearly are.

“I’m pouring wine!” Ashton announces, then. “Mikey, you wanna get your cake in the fridge?”

Michael rushes to get it done, remembering how prone the vegan butter icing is to melting. Calum helps him, dutifully rearranging the fridge’s contents until the cake fits comfortably. By then, their wine is waiting for them and Ashley and Luke are sauteing vegetables. Calum goes to help (or steal stray mushrooms, it’s unclear which), but Luke heads him off and kisses him quite headily. Michael smiles, knowing he never would’ve been that patient with Calum.

While the others cook, Ashton comes to wrap himself around Michael where he’s sitting on a stool by the island. Pressing his lips to Michael’s ear, he breathes, “Have I told you how hot you look tonight?”

“Have I told you I’m not wearing any underwear?” Michael volleys, just as quietly.

“ _Fuck_ , I’m so in love you,” Ashton croons, going to suck on his earlobe.

“With your whole _heart_ , right?” Michael taunts, reaching back to brush a hand along the front of Ashton’s jeans.

“Forever,” Ashton answers, voice serious now.

Michael sighs, smiling, and relaxes back into his boy’s arms. “Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry if this sucked x


End file.
